


Coming Home

by LaylaBoBayla



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Amnesia, Amnesiac Mollymauk Tealeaf, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Canon LGBTQ Female Character, Canon Temporary Character Death, Canonical Character Death, Character Death, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Major Character Injury, POV Mollymauk Tealeaf, POV Multiple, POV Yasha (Critical Role), Platonic Relationships, Platonic Soulmates, Yasha (Critical Role)-centric, platonic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-07
Updated: 2019-10-03
Packaged: 2020-02-27 13:15:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18739783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LaylaBoBayla/pseuds/LaylaBoBayla
Summary: After returning to visit Mollymauk's grave on the one-year anniversary of his death, Yasha makes a shocking discovery.





	1. Discovery

**Author's Note:**

> Bleh, this is hasty and barely a step above a first draft, but it's just a side-project I'm working on so that I don't go crazy trying to put 100% of my energy into the novel I'm working on. Hopefully it's somewhat enjoyable, maybe someday when my novel is done I'll have some time to rewrite it! I have no idea how many chapters it's going to end up being, I guess we'll see when the time comes!

**Mollymauk**

_Empty_

His bloody fingernails scraped at mounds of dirt encompassing him from all sides. Where was he? There was nothing in front of him, nothing behind him, just blackness pressing in on him like a physical weight on his eyes. When he opened his mouth to breathe a wave of dirt cascaded in instead, choking him. The weight on his chest was crushing, he could barely draw any air into screaming lungs, stars popped in front of his eyes. All he knew was _up, get out,_ he could not stay in here. He swallowed another mouthful of earth and felt his chest seize. Blood pounded in his ears, his stomach twisted as he choked. His palms were worn raw and bloody. He was fading...

He saw light.

Just a speck of it, but he wasn’t close enough. It was tiny, barely the size of a pin prick. It was something. He thrust a hand up towards it, and he felt his fingers break the surface. Sweet, irresistible air caressed his burning, blistered palm. He could feel water, icy raindrops hitting his fingers, and he thrashed desperately to try and reach the air. He muscles screamed from the exertion of moving beneath the ground. Panic rose up in him as he felt himself losing steam. The light faded from his vision, and the world went dark once more.

 

**Yasha**

The Marrow Valley was covered in a thin sheet of rain, and had been for three days now. Yasha’s heavy coat was soaked through, adding what felt like an extra ten pounds to her shoulders, which were already laden down with her pack and greatsword. Her boots slipped in the mud, she could see water dripping from her thick braids and tangled cords of hair. Her blue warpaint had dripped off her chin and stained the front of her tunic days ago, dying the gray fabric a pale cobalt in spots. There wasn’t any lightning, not yet, but she kept an eye out nonetheless. There was a thrumming deep in her veins, the kind always associated with electricity.

She hadn’t left the Mighty Nein in a long while, but this was a trip she needed to make. It had been a far trek, everyone else was staying behind in Nicodranas. No one else had come, but simply because she hadn’t asked anyone. She hadn’t even told anyone where she was going, she had just vanished in the middle of the night, like usual.

She was getting close now, it was only a few hills away.

Her stomach was a knot of lead. It had been a year to the day since she had seen Mollymauk Tealeaf bleeding to death in the dirt, a glaive driven all the way through his chest. The haze of drugs and pain from the slavers had made it seem like a bad dream, nothing solid. She hadn’t even been worried, it was far too horrible to be true. She could still see the blood running from his lips, the triumphant fire in Lorenzo’s eyes, the dull pain twisting Mollymauk’s face in his final moments. And she had just gone back to sleep.

_Don’t think about it, you’ve been over this a hundred times, there’s nothing you could have done differently._

It was a lie she told herself. She started trudging up over the next hill, but her legs were turning to iron with each step. She _could_ have fought harder against the drugs, found some crafty way to refuse them, or regurgitate them for her time in captivity. She could have realized her vision was in fact reality, and _maybe_ gotten up the strength to turn the tides against Lorenzo, given them just enough time to pull him back from the brink of death. If she hadn’t gotten captured in the first place, kept her guard up, this never would have happened to begin with. He would still be here, and she wouldn’t be making a lengthy trek to visit a shallow grave marked with a coat and a stick. Maybe she would still feel some semblance of _complete._

The rain started coming down even harder. She felt herself grinding to a halt, stopping just before the crest of the last hill. Her throat was tight. She couldn’t do this alone. Maybe she should turn back now, head to somewhere with a bed and a warm meal, somewhere where she could get supplies for her journey back to the Mighty Nein. Maybe it was finally time to let go of Mollymauk.

_You failed him. You at least owe this to him._

She hefted her soaking pack and sword higher up on her shoulders and climbed to the top of the hill, squinting down through the rain towards where she knew the grave would be. Sure enough, a shadowy shape could just be made out through the fog. A stick, stuck straight into the ground, holding up a coat that was inevitably worn threadbare by the elements by now— and a _hand._

Yasha’s chest went icy. _That can’t be right._ She scrambled down the hill towards the grave, almost slipping in the mud. Maybe she was just seeing things in the rain. Maybe it was just a rock or a bush that looked like a hand, maybe the water just washed the dirt away—

It was a hand. It was Mollymauk’s hand, soaked in blood and torn to shreds. Had he been clawing his way out? His fingernails were chipped and clotted with dirt, and Yasha’s heart squeezed when she gripped his hand. The blood was still warm.

She grabbed his hand with both of hers and pulled. The mud seemed to suction the body back down, like the land was reluctant to release its spoils, but she had freed a whole arm. She braced his elbow and gave another mighty tug, gritting her teeth. Something popped, but she didn’t have time to stop and try to unbury him, he would drown in earth before then. He would just have to deal with a dislocated shoulder.

Lightning crashed, hot and close enough that the hair on the back of Yasha’s neck stood on end. Thunder shook the sky, the rain came torrenting down with an even more urgent beat. A surge of energy coursed through her veins, and with a final, massive tug she yanked Mollymauk’s torso from the ground. Horns decorated with tarnished gold and silver jewelry narrowly avoided hitting her as his head fell forward onto her shoulder. His chest heaved as he coughed and choked, and Yasha gave him several hearty pats on the back. Molly drew shaky breaths, and Yasha couldn’t tell if he was conscious or not, but her head was spinning and her heart pounded just beneath her throat. He was really here, he was _alive!_

She had tried to hold out hope that maybe he would come back, but—

“Mollymauk,” she murmured, finally finding the ability to speak. Her voice came out in a squeak. “Molly?” No answer. Mollymauk was dead weight on her shoulder, his arms limp at his sides. Rain was slowly washing the mud off him, creating runny tracks of dirt and blood down the back of his neck. Yasha felt herself starting to shake. They needed to get out of this cold. She pushed herself up and hooked her arms under Molly’s, grunting as she pulled the rest of him from the mud. His head hung limp to one side, and she could see a thin slit of red between his partially-opened eyelids.

She set Mollymauk in a less-muddy patch of land, the thin branches of a scrubby tree managing to keep it somewhat dry. Yasha quickly set about trying to put up a tent, propping the thick canvas up on polished, measured logs. She put it up in a matter of moments and hammered the stakes into the earth with a few quick hits with a rock. In no time at all she had Mollymauk laid out on her bedroll, and she finally had time to process everything.

She could barely comprehend what she was even seeing, as if she was under the heavy effects of Lorenzo’s drugs again. Mollymauk was here, _alive._ She had just barely found him in time, any later and he would have died again, crushed to death by mud. _Had_ he died again, and just kept coming back? What if he had been in that grave, dying over and over, for a year now? What if they had left him to suffer all that time? Maybe they should have come back to check on him and make sure he hadn’t mysteriously resurrected like he had the first time. Perhaps they shouldn’t have buried him at all.

She chewed on her fingernails, something she hadn’t done since she was a small child. Her gut was still like iron, but as if it had been held over a fire for too long and had gotten uncomfortably hot. Her hands shook, she couldn’t take her eyes off the mud-streaked tiefling. Was he in pain right now? Did he know she was here? Would he remember who he was?

She reached out and took his hand, cupping it between both of her own. She had to start small, or else she would overwhelm herself if she thought about all of this at once. Molly’s hands were still bloody, and now they were starting to get cold. She dug in her pack and pulled out a small roll of bandages. She uncapped her water canteen and poured a little bit over his palm. His fingers twitched slightly at the cold water, but he didn’t stir. If it hadn’t been for his harsh breathing, she would have thought he was still a corpse.

Yasha bandaged both his hands and tugged his soaking wet clothes off, covering him instead in the blanket from her bedroll. There was a long, ropey scar right down the middle of his sternum, a single red eye peeking up from the bottom of it. A strange chill ran down Yasha’s spine at the sight of it.

_Make that ten eyes, then._

Molly’s skin was starting to pimple out in goosebumps. She took every blanket and coat she owned, layering him in them until his shivers died down and his tense muscles released some. She couldn’t help but brush a hand through his soggy, purple curls. They stuck to his forehead and dripped into his eyes and ears. Even though it was cold, she felt a slow rush of warmth run through her. She had missed him.

She set about putting together a fire, which proved to be difficult considering the whole valley was soaked to the bone. She didn’t dare to stray too far from the tent, except to pluck the bedraggled coat from its perch beside the empty grave. She wrung it out as best she could and hung it under the low branches of the tree, close to the fire so that it would dry. Finally, she sat back to watch the sleeping tiefling and their little, rain-soaked camp. The fire warmed her from the outside as Molly’s presence seemed to melt her frigid soul, worn stiff and cold from loss after loss. For the first time in a year, she felt at home.

 

**Mollymauk**

Air rushed into his lungs as his face broke the muddy surface, his body reacting naturally to the icy blast. He felt his head come to rest against something warm. He was leaning against someone solid and sturdy. He could breathe again! Hands hit him on the back to try and dislodge all the dirt and mud from his lungs, and they held him once his coughing died down. The warmth kept him grounded, gave him something to focus in on as he tried to recover from his ordeal. He desperately wanted to go back to sleep. Everything ached, he was remarkably aware of each joint and bone, and he focused on slowly taking air in through his burning throat and nose. He felt himself drifting away again, the pain slowly numbing as he seemed to escape his senses. The rush of rain in his ears slowly faded, and he blacked out once more.

The next few hours came in snapshots as he faded in and out, there was no way he could piece them together. There was a big lady with black and white hair bandaging his aching hands, the feeling of a heavy blanket being layered across him, a warm fire at his back, the sound of rain drumming on canvas. Most of the time he felt nothing at all, his pain numbed to static and his sense of time all but nonexistent. He was falling in and out, between a void of total nothingness and this strange camp with the woman with serious eyes. He couldn’t recall a single solid thought that passed through his mind, it was like trying to pool water in his hands without letting a drop out. As soon as something vaguely materialized, it slipped away again, leaving him blank, numb, and completely…

 

**Yasha**

“Empty...”

Yasha jerked awake. Mollymauk had barely uttered a sound, but it had brought her out of her deep sleep as suddenly and totally as if it had been a shout. She looked over to the tight bundle of blankets and cloaks that was Mollymauk, but he had gone still and quiet again. Was she hearing things? She tossed the small blanket she had kept for herself aside and crept over to Molly, gently rolling him over and checking his pulse. His heart beat on steadily, thrumming softly in his neck. Yasha hummed and sat back on her heels. It was still completely black outside, she had no idea how far off dawn was. The beating on the canvas above them seemed to be slowing, the storm must finally be moving on.

Molly slept on his back, his mouth slightly agape as he took slow, deep breaths. His hair had dried into a tangled, violet mess around his horns, and the blankets had slipped down to his shoulders. She really shouldn’t wake him, she should let him sleep through the night and recover, but if he was starting to talk…

“Mollymauk,” she gave his shoulder a gentle shake as her need to talk to him overrode her caregiving instincts, “Molly, wake up.”

Her heart leapt when he stirred. He twisted under his heavy pile of blankets and his eyelids twitched. He took a moment to drag his eyes open. Solid red pupils slowly roved around, taking in their dim surroundings, but she could tell he was hazy and unfocused. She brushed a hand across his jaw, gently tilting his face to look at her. His expression didn’t change, his eyes stayed just as blank and fuzzy.

“Hey, Molly.”

“Empty…” another soft whisper passed his lips. He didn’t even seem to be aware what he was saying.

Yasha’s heart sank as his eyes closed once more. She gave his shoulder another shake, a bit harder this time.

“Mollymauk, look at me.”

He blinked awake and focused on her.

“Do you remember me? Tell me my name.” The tiefling didn’t respond. It was like he didn’t even understand what she was saying at all. Yasha wondered if he could even hear her.

“Come on Mollymauk. Just say my name.” She tried to keep her voice even, shoving down the panic trying to rise up in her throat. What if he didn’t remember her? She gripped his hand, slowly rubbing his palm with her thumb. He made a low sound in his throat and turned his face away from her, eyes sliding shut again.

“Molly…?” Yasha’s voice cracked. Her hands shook as she gripped his hand and his shoulder, her teeth sinking into her lower lip.

Molly slowly brought one of his hand up from under the blankets and rested it against Yasha’s cold knuckles. She couldn’t tell if he was trying to push her off his shoulder or comfort her, but he was too weak to do either.

Her chest seized up as she took a shaky breath. Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes, but she blinked them back as she released him. She pulled the blankets back over him, tucking his hand under the layers and smoothing the wrinkles down.

“Just sleep,” her voice was rough and quiet, “get some rest, maybe you’ll be able to talk to me in the morning.”

Molly’s eyes were closed before she could even finish talking. She took a slow breath and hastily wiped at her eyes, trying to get herself to calm down, focus. Freaking out wouldn’t do anyone any favors, especially not Mollymauk. She had to focus on his soft, rhythmic breathing, the fact that he was warm and not frozen in the bottom of a grave. She waited until he was fully asleep before laying back down, her back towards Molly’s shadow. She found that she couldn’t reclaim sleep, and she watched the edges of the tent turn from black to blue to gray as the sun slowly rose and the last of the rain pattered out against the thick canvas.


	2. The Oncoming Storm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lololol, pretend this didn't take me 5 months to update

**Molly**

The first time he was fully lucid was a strange experience. He laid on his back, staring up at the thick brown canvas of the tent above him. Thoughts entered his mind, but unlike the few days before they seemed to stick. He remembered the mud, the crushing earth, the woman with the serious eyes. His mouth was dry and his throat burned. The weight of several thick cloaks and blankets pinned him to the bedroll beneath him. Every inch of him still ached, and even without moving he could tell that his back was hard as a rock from laying totally still for days. He didn’t have the strength to push himself up.  


A hand pushed the tent flap open, and the big lady stepped through. She held a small bowl in the other hand, focused on not spilling its contents. Her eyes flicked over his face, but she didn’t seem at all surprised to find him awake.  


“Um… Hello,” he said pleasantly. His voice rasped as if he had been smoking a pipe for too long. The bowl of soup hit the ground as the woman started.  


“Molly!”  


Molly. He had a name. A good one too.  


“Yes, that’s… me. And you are?” his throat was _burning_.  


The light that had entered the woman’s two-toned eyes died out as quickly as it had come. She looked down at the spilled soup sinking into the dirt floor. Molly could feel a hot spot near his left toe through the blankets.  


“So you don’t remember,” she crouched to pick up the bowl. Molly grimaced.  


“No, sorry.” He typically didn’t remember anything, except for the fact that he had died. But how did even he know that? He tried to sit up, but found that it caused a sharp pain to shoot through his tailbone and back. Best not to do that, then.  


“I’m Yasha,” she set the empty bowl aside and sat back on her heels before resting her elbows on her knees. She couldn’t seem to meet his eyes, “we were-- are good friends.”  


Well that was good news.  


“It’s nice to re-meet you, Yasha,” he lifted a hand to shake, and found that that was sore too. Why did laying in bed doing nothing for a few days have to hurt so much?  
Yasha glanced at his limp hand and raised an eyebrow. She slowly took it, giving it a firm shake.  


“Nice to… re-meet you too?”  


“That’s the spirit,” he let his hand flop on top of the blankets as she released it. “Do you have any water?”  


Yasha nodded and stood. “Let me go get you some,” she slipped from the tent. Mollymauk let his head fall back against the bedroll and resumed examining the ceiling of the tent. How long had he been dead this time?  


He closed his eyes and tried to focus. His mind still felt fuzzy and almost raw, like the dirt from the grave had scrubbed his memories clean. All he knew was that his name was Molly, and he had definitely been through this before. How many times it had happened, or how often it occurred, he had no idea. His heart seemed to clench in his chest.  


His eyes opened as Yasha entered, carrying another bowl of soup and a flask. Molly tried to sit up again.  


“Here, I’ll help,” Yasha set the bowl aside and crouched. One hand gripped his arm and she effortlessly hauled him into a sitting position, fast enough to make him dizzy. Before he knew it he was propped up against her heavy pack and a pillow, a warm bowl of soup in hand.  


“So, you knew me before I died?” Molly asked after his head caught up with the motion. He took a sip of the soup. It was thin, but not awful. The heat was heavenly on his raw throat.  


Yasha’s eyebrows pulled together as she passed him the flask.  


“For a couple years. We… we were travelling companions,” her voice was soft, and she didn’t look him in the eye. Mollymauk took a sip of the flask and had to close his eyes for a moment. Water was delicious.  


“Can you tell me?” If they knew each other before-hand, she was his only source of information at the moment. He was burning with curiosity.  


She looked him over. “You’re pretty calm about this whole situation. You do know you died, right? I pulled you from your grave.”  


Molly pressed his lips together. It was the only thing he was aware of. “It seems to be a common reoccurrence. Honestly... the only thing I can remember right now is the fact that this isn’t the first time it’s happened. Strange, isn’t it?”  


Yasha chewed the inside of her cheek for a moment before apparently finding the right words. “Maybe not. It… you told me about it happening before, actually.”  


“So tell me,” Molly pressed.  


Yasha let out a deep sigh.  


“Well, we met about two years ago, in Gustav’s Circus. Your name is Mollymauk Tealeaf, and you dazzled everyone you met.”  


A nice way to start off. Yasha told him everything. She told him all about the last time he woke up, how Gustav had found him and named him “M.T.”, the initials pulled from the only word he could say for a few solid days of being alive. Empty. She told him about each individual in the circus, the beautiful people that took both of them in. She described the drunken nights spent together, the cold days spent listening to the rain on top of the circus tent with warm drinks in hand, and the circus’s untimely end.  


She told him about the Mighty Nein, about Nott and Caleb, about Fjord and Jester and Beauregard. She told him about Lorenzo, her expression growing stormy as she described Molly’s most recent death. It left a strange taste in his mouth, metallic like he had swallowed blood.  


“So… that’s about it,” she said, story clearly concluded. Molly-- Mollymauk nodded, a hollow feeling in his gut. It sounded like he had led a pretty great life, losing it all was a heavy weight. Yasha cleared her throat and stood.  


“Anyway, I’ll let you sleep more. Can I get you anything else?”  


“No, thank you,” he said quietly. He felt sick, he almost wished she hadn’t told him about what he had lost. Almost.  


Yasha hesitated for a moment before nodding and leaving the tent, letting the flap close behind her. Mollymauk lay back down, as quickly as his sore body would allow, and rolled over onto his side. For the first time since he woke up he thought about where he would go after this. It sounded like he had once had a family with this Mighty Nein, but did they still want him? Did he want to go back to them? A year was a while after all, especially if he did not remember them.  


He decided he would sleep on it. He didn’t have to think about all of this right now, right?

He found he couldn’t sleep.

 

**Yasha**

Yasha stepped out of the tent and took a big breath of air. Telling Mollymauk about his past life hadn’t been easy; it had been hard to see the lack of recognition in his eyes at every familiar name. Gustav. Fjord. Caleb. Beau. Each name had been just another character for him to keep track of in her story, not a figure with a name and a face, someone who knew him and loved him.  


Her eyes rested on the coat hanging in the tree beside the tent. She lifted it from the branch and turned it over in her hands as she examined it from every angle. How much of it was salvageable? The deep red fabric had paled to a dull pink, and the careful embroidery was ragged and torn from the elements. It was crusted stiff from a year in the sun, and the back was still stained with dirt and blood from his wound. There was a tear down the back, severing the head of the peacock that had taken him so long to perfect. She ran a finger carefully over its eye. The red thread had been stained a dark brown.  


Would this bring any memories back? It certainly did for her. She remembered the hours of work it had taken him, squinting at the swatch of red fabric by candlelight each night. He would utter a soft curse under his breath each time the needle pricked his finger, but had refused the thimble offered to him. Yasha remembered how vibrant the yarn had been, how the colors seemed to shimmer under the sun. Her heart ached as she folded the bedraggled coat up and tucked it in her pack.  


“Yasha?” Molly’s voice was soft. She heard the worry he was trying to camouflage with a light veneer of casuality. For a moment she could believe her old friend had returned to her, he sounded just like he did when he knew something was wrong.  


“What is it?” she held the tent flap aside. Molly had pushed himself up into a sitting position, bracing himself on his elbows. His chest was caved in, and his lavender cheeks were significantly paler than normal. He shot her a weak smile.  


“Are you alright?” Yasha said.  


“Fine,” he gasped as he pushed himself higher, “I forgot to thank you for telling me everything. I feel like I haven’t had anyone in the past who knew me well enough to tell me who I was.”  


“Of course,” Yasha crouched beside him. She pushed on his shoulder to make him lay back down, “I’m glad I made it in time to help you out of that grave.”  
Mollymauk grunted softly as he was pushed back. Yasha watched some of the purple flush back into his cheeks. She sighed and tugged the blankets back up over him.  


“You should try and get some rest. I’m sure this is a lot to process.”  


“You have no idea,” he chuckled. He let his eyes close for a moment. A strand of hair was dangling between his horns, almost touching the corner of his mouth. Yasha couldn’t help but reach out and brush it back. She carefully tucked it behind one of his ears, and felt her heart lift at the little smile it brought out of Mollymauk.  


“Hmm, we _were_ close,” he murmured.  


“Mm-hmm,” Yasha absently curled her fingers through his amethyst locks, “we… we were best friends.” Soulmates, almost. If you believed in that sort of thing.  


“Were,” Molly echoed softly, “I feel like there’s going to be a lot of ‘were’s’ in my future.”  


“Probably,” she hummed. Her pale fingers brushed over the tarnished jewelry decorating his horns. They used to be a mixture of gold and silver, but time and dirt had worn them down into a uniform, dull brown. She picked at one of the chains and started to untangle it. Mollymauk’s eyes closed and he started to breathe deeply. Yasha was a little surprised he didn’t say anything as she began removing the ruined baubles. Clearly, physical touch still didn’t phase him at all. Another little piece of her old friend to hold on to.  


Molly was asleep by the time she had finished. She looked over his horns, eyeing the darker patches of purple that had been preserved by the jewelry and not worn away by dirt and decay. The rest of his horns, like everything else, were worn almost gray from a year in a hole. Hopefully that could be fixed, she knew he would hate this patchy look.  


Yasha stood and left the tent once more, letting him rest. The valley was quiet, with nothing but the wind to keep them company.

**Mollymauk**

Molly spent the next few days letting Yasha care for him, which largely included eating copious amounts of soup and listening to her stories about the circus, the Mighty Nein, and almost more importantly, the two of them. Mollymauk felt the lingering rigor mortis bleed from his muscles with each passing day, and soon he was able to sit and stand without assistance. It still hurt like hell, but he assumed it would pass.  


Rains swept back and forth through the Marrow Valley every day which, combined with Mollymauk’s weak state, left them stranded under their little tree. Mollymauk didn’t mind. The tent was comfortable enough, even though it was a little chilling to spend each night less than fifteen yards away from his open grave. The rain had turned it into a muddy pool that he could see from the entrance of the tent, where the two of them often sat shoulder-to-shoulder.  


Yasha was different in the rain. It was like electricity coursed through her very veins when a storm was upon them, practically bursting out of her fingertips. He could see her scanning back and forth, as if she were looking for something. Molly almost couldn’t help but watch her. As much as she had told him about his past, she had said very little about herself, even when prodded.  


They sat beside a small fire as the last of a storm petered out, allowing them a small window to cook before the next one started up. Yasha turned two skinned rabbits on a roasting spit, humming a tune to herself. Mollymauk sat with his tail curled around his own roasting spit, which he had propped up with rocks and logs as he lounged. He assumed that normally he would have hated to sit in the dirt, but it was hard to be upset about anything with a warm meal on the way and a beautiful sunset painting the sky with bright purples and reds. He let out a soft sigh.  


“I’m thinking we can leave tomorrow,” Yasha turned her rabbits over, “think you’re up for walking a bit?”  


“‘Course! Stretching my legs will be nice, especially with such enjoyable company.”  


The hint of a smile tugged at Yasha’s lips. “Good. Then we’ll leave in the morning, bright and early.”  


“Yes ma’am,” Molly shifted to turn his roasting spit over too. The smell of rabbit made his stomach growl, they didn’t have too much longer before they were perfectly crispy on the outside and soft on the inside. Yasha pulled both of hers off the fire and took a bite out of one. Warm juices ran down her chin.  


Molly’s stomach grumbled louder.  


A crack of lightning split the sky to their East, and a rumble of thunder followed close behind. Yasha looked up and wiped her mouth on her arm. Her eyes were practically glittering.  


“Oh good.”  


It wasn’t good. Molly huffed as yet more rain began to pour down, making their fire sizzle and die down. He lifted his rabbit off the roasting spit and took a bite.  


“Looks like it’s going to be another cold night, hmm Yasha?”  


Yasha didn’t respond. Her eyes were glued to the horizon, where the lightning had just come down. Her look of excitement had been replaced with one of worry, already all-too familiar to Mollymauk.  


“... Everything alright?”  


“Hm? Oh,” Yasha blinked and looked down at the tiefling. “Yes, fine. I just thought… it looked like something was out there.”  


Mollymauk waved a hand. He was too hungry to worry about it. “Must be a trick of the light. You know, an empty stomach can play with your mind.”  


“You’re probably right…” Yasha’s soft voice trailed off, and she set her rabbits aside to rest one hand on the hilt of her sword. She kept her eyes hooked on the storm. Molly couldn’t help but let his gaze wander that way too, towards the occasional cracks of lightning. The rain began to come down harder and faster, once again turning the land to mud beneath their feet. Their fire went out, the wood soaked to the bone. Molly’s rabbit got soggy before he could finish all of it, making the last half of his meal much less enjoyable than the first.  


The storm appeared to be rolling over the top of them, the lightning coming closer and the thunder claps getting more frequent. A few scrubby trees broke the horizon, but other than that, the two of them could see for miles in each flash. Yasha’s eyes scanned back and forth across the valley, clearly still hunting out whatever she thought she had seen. Molly, however, was sick of being soaking wet.  


“I’m going into the tent, Yasha dear. Why don’t you come sit--”  


Another flash of lightning, followed immediately by a crack of thunder. Yasha leapt to her feet, eyes sharp.  


“There!”  


“What?” Molly dug at his ear, which was ringing from the thunder. He got to his feet and stared out towards where Yasha was looking.  


“I don’t see anything... Maybe you should go lay down, you’ve been under a lot of pressure lately.”  


But as soon as the lightning struck again, Molly saw it. A massive, lumbering shape just on the horizon, easily a full twelve feet of hulking muscle. Little could be made out from their distance, but he could see a weapon strapped to the thing’s back. A long, spear-like shaft ended in a long blade, probably as long as Mollymauk’s torso. For an inexplicable reason, a shot of icy dread ran through him. 

The rain was almost warm by comparison.  


“Is that…”  


“We’re leaving,” Yasha announced. Molly turned to look up at her, and was struck by another zing of fear. Yasha looked downright terrified.  


“By the gods, Yasha what is that thing?”  


Yasha was already moving, kicking out the last pathetic embers of their fire and plunging them into darkness. Her shadowed figure moved to the tent and ducked inside, beginning to pack things up.  


“Yasha, it’s nighttime! We can’t travel right now, there’s all sorts of creatures out there!” Molly’s protest was weak. Not only was that thing close, it had been heading towards them. “What’s that beast out there?”  


"I don’t know,” Yasha emerged from the tent carrying her pack, and yanked on a rope to collapse the canvas, “but I have a suspicion.”  


“Tell me!” Molly couldn’t help but bristle. There was no reason for her to be this vague, was there?  


Yasha lit a torch, barely bright enough to see by. She threw a glance over her shoulder towards the creature, and another crack of lightning revealed it was moving slowly West, towards them. Yasha set her gaze back on Mollymauk, her eyes two deep pits of shadow in the harsh torchlight.  


“It’s Lorenzo.”


End file.
